


untitled

by lynnearlington



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-03
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 01:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnearlington/pseuds/lynnearlington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>from the prompt: college Brittana where Brittany has a rare bad day?</p>
            </blockquote>





	untitled

**Author's Note:**

> posted from tumblr

The best thing about college? She practically lives with Brittany without having to actually live with her. 

Okay maybe that sounds weird, but whatever. She gets all the perks of living with Brittany - a warm body in her bed at night, and a smiling face to greet her after class - while still having a place to go and be by herself, space to be alone when she wants to be. 

That specific need of course, the need for personal space, comes more infrequently as the months go on to the point where if Brittany’s not in her room waiting for her in the afternoon it throws Santana off, makes her feel out of sorts until they see each other. 

Which is why today, 4 o’clock in the afternoon on a Monday, Santana walks into her room expecting to see Brittany where she left her this morning - in bed with no plans to get out of it. Brittany doesn’t have classes on Mondays which actually makes Santana’s Mondays more bearable because it means her girlfriend usually just hangs around in her dorm room all day. There’s just something about leaving her in the morning and knowing she’ll see her in a few hours that puts a smile on Santana’s face all day.

But it’s Monday, Santana’s home from class and Brittany’s not there. No one is there. 

The bed is messy, but the sheets are cold. There’s an empty bowl and coffee mug on her table, and Brittany’s sweats are thrown over her computer chair, but other than that there’s no sign of her. 

“Britt?” The name lamely leaves her lips and she almost cringes when she hears it. Like she can’t already see that her girlfriend isn’t there. 

Pulling her phone out of the pocket of her jeans, Santana sends what she hopes is a cool, indifferent text message of  _hey_ as she plops down in her desk chair, reaching out to wake up her laptop. The one thing she’s not going to do is get suddenly and uncharacteristically clingy despite how badly she wants to walk all the way across campus to Brittany’s dorm just to see her. 

No. Instead, she’s going to sit here, check her e-mail, catch up on some work and  _not_  think about how she wishes her girlfriend were in the bed behind her. This is the best part of college, right? The part where Santana gets  _space_  and time to be alone and blah blah blah. 

She lasts about an hour. 

To be fair, she’s a little concerned that her text message has gone unanswered this long. It’s unlike Brittany to completely ignore her. Even when she’s mad she still answers, at the very least lets Santana know they’re in a fight. Santana’d be happy with the curt responses Brittany gives her when she’s ticked off - it’s better than the deafening silence of her room and the overwhelming  _lame_  that’s pouring over her as she sits alone and wills her phone to ring. 

She decides Brittany’s obviously injured, or maimed, or dead or something because that’s the only explanation for her absence. She’s out the door, down the steps of her dorm and halfway across the quad before she can convince herself otherwise. 

—

Brittany’s door is decorated in this sickening pink ribbon along the border, and littered with pictures chronicling their time together - college, high school, a few from when they were little kids. Santana laughs at a particularly embarrassing photo of her and Brittany at a frat party not two weeks ago, before cutting the sound off with a cough and ripping the picture off the door to stow in her pocket. People don’t need to see that.

The spare key to Brittany’s dorm (copied illegally about five seconds after they were issued) is in Santana’s hand and heading towards the lock before a bizarre wave of uncertainty overcomes her. Pocketing the key, and swallowing thickly, Santana knocks. The motion is so foreign that she almost jumps at the loud sound her knuckles make against wood. 

A few beats later the locks click open, and the disheveled head of her blonde girlfriend appears, eyes puffy around the edges. Santana’s concern doubles. 

“Britt,” Santana breathes out, pushing her way into the dorm without another thought. 

“Hi,” Brittany says softly, turning around and trudging towards the twin bed against the far wall of the room, curling up on the covers. 

Santana walks over, perches on the edge and runs her fingers through the blonde hair falling over Brittany’s forehead, concern wrinkling her brow at the warmth she feels. “Britt, where have you been all day?” 

“Here,” Brittany croaks out, shifting minutely towards Santana’s touch. It calms a little bit of the anxiety in her gut. 

“You ignored my text.” 

Brittany’s eyes find her messenger bag leaned up against the desk chair across the floor. “Sorry,” she says softly. “Forgot to take my phone out.” 

Fingers still stroking across Brittany’s forehead, Santanas shifts a little on the bed. “Baby, what’s wrong?” 

“Sick,” Brittany responds promptly. “I think.” 

“Britt,” Santana laughs, worry seeping out of her. “Why’d you leave my room if you were sick?” 

“I had to get something,” Brittany explains almost petulantly. “You won’t let me keep all my stuff over there so I had to come back and then I wasn’t feeling well so I just laid down for a second…” 

“There’s not enough room for all of your stuff,” Santana laughs. 

Brittany’s face remains firm. “Yeah, so I had to come back here.” 

“You should have called me,” Santana says. “I would have come and taken care of you.” 

“I just need to sleeeeeeeep,” Brittany draws out, ending it on a cough. 

“And what…you can’t sleep in my room?” 

“I told you,” Brittany says, looking at Santana like she’s an idiot. “I had to come get something.” 

“I would have come and gotten whatever you needed.” 

“That’s not the point,” Brittany replies, lower lip jutting out a bit. 

The bed creaks a little as Santana maneuvers her way around it until her back is up against the cement wall. Her arm wraps around Brittany’s waist and pulls her against Santana’s front, head automatically resting against the cloth of Brittany’s shoulder. All her nerves settle almost instantly, and Santana takes a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.” 

“I’m okay. I think it’s just whatever Molly had last week.” 

Santana hums a little, arm tightening against her girlfriend. 

Pressing back into Santana, Brittany’s hand laces with the fingers over her abdomen. “You okay?” 

“Missed you,” Santana murmurs. 

“I had to get something,” Brittany says for what feels like the fiftieth time. 

“Britt,” Santana laughs out. “Is there something you’re trying to tell me?” 

A few seconds pass. “No.” 

“You should sleep then.” 

“Don’t you have to go back to your room?” 

Santana pulls back, looks down at her girlfriend with an amused expression. “Not trying to tell me something my  _ass_.” 

Brittany’s brow furrows as she turns to face Santana. “I’m not trying to tell you anything about your ass.” Her gaze moves pointedly down to the body part in question. “But I can if you want.” 

It takes a second, but Santana’s known Brittany  _forever_ and even if she hadn’t it’s not like Brittany’s particularly subtle. She puts the conversation together in her head and almost starts laughing. 

“Babe, if you want to move some stuff into my dorm that’s fine. You just can’t move _everything_.” 

Face brightening suddenly, Santana can practically feel her girlfriend’s whole body perk up. “You mean it?” 

“Yeah of course,” Santana says without hesitation, she shrugs, looks away for a second. “I mean, I like having you there. If giving up some space means you won’t walk all the way across campus when you’re sick then that’s fine with me.” 

“You want me to move in with you.” 

“Brittany,” Santana laughs, shaking her head. “You spend  _most_  of your time there anyway. Why do you think I came looking for you today?” 

“You want me to move in with you.” 

“You’ve  _already_  moved in is what I’m saying.” 

“No,” Brittany says suddenly, dissatisfaction clouding her face. “You have to ask. I haven’t until you ask.” 

“Are you serious with this?” 

“I didn’t want to just like be in your room all the time because I know you like to be alone and you were excited about finally getting your own room and I just…you have to  _ask_!” 

Rolling her eyes, Santana gives in. She’s tired, and happy that she’s finally here, in bed with Brittany, that she’d pretty much agree to anything at this point. Even if what she’s agreeing to are the feverish ramblings of her crazy girlfriend. “Ugh, fine. Move in with me?” 

A slow, sly smile spreads across Brittany’s face, hands suddenly gripping in the fabric of Santana’s shirt. “You totally want to marry me.” 

Santana’s eyes go wide and if she weren’t against a cement wall she’d be backing up. “Whoa, hold on now.” 

“You do,” Brittany says, turning her head to cough into her shoulder for a second before continuing. “You totally want to marry me.”

“I just asked you to move in with me,” Santana says slowly. “Because you told me to.”

Brittany’s flushed face is all perky and smiley, pulling at Santana’s heart effortlessly. “You’re pretty much asking me to marry you that’s how it goes. It’s just the first step. Then marriage, then like…babies.”

Santana’s eyes widen even more as visions race across her mind of little blonde haired children running around, wreaking havoc everywhere and laughing. 

Shaking her head, Santana lets herself laugh and stops worrying about something she’s actually  _not_  worried about. As if marrying Brittany hadn’t been the plan since like…day one of their friendship.  

“Britt,” Santana says, low and with force. She tightens her grip on Brittany and moves her face in close. “I’m not asking you to marry me right now.” Brittany’s face goes dark with sadness, but Santana shakes her head to stop whatever emotion is storming up. “When I ask you to marry me, you’ll know it. I promise.” 

It quiets her girlfriend quickly whose face shifts to something akin to awe. “I’ll totally say yes,” Brittany whispers after a moment. 

With a smirk, Santana winks. “Duh.” 

Grinning widely, Brittany moves to kiss her, but Santana pulls back abruptly. “Ew don’t kiss me you’re sick!” 

“Nooooo,” Brittany croons out before practically assaulting Santana in order to press their lips together. “Must have kisses.” 

Santana swats at Brittany’s grabbing hands near her face, and laughingly moves her head around to avoid Brittany’s lips. “Grossssss,” she whines. 

Eventually Brittany gives up when her laughing turns to coughing, and she settles against Santana’s collarbone, inhaling shakily. 

“Sleep,” Santana orders, pressing lips against a warm forehead. “You have to get better so I can get up on those kisses again.” 

She feels Brittany’s smile against her neck. “ _Totally_  want to marry me.” 

Santana just laughs, wraps her arm around Brittany’s body and whispers a contented  _I love you_  into blonde hair. 


End file.
